Of Women
by Hoodoo
Summary: A very quick chapter for each of the guys, thinking about women.
1. BA

_Disclaimer: *checks bank account* Nope, not mine. No harm, no foul._

_Author's note: Rated for mild language and mild adult themes. These are one-shots. They're just a very quick chapter for each of the guys, thinking about women._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>B.A. loved the look of women.<p>

Well duh. Most straight men did.

But beneath the gruff exterior, B.A. loved the stark contrast of femininity. He loved the light perfume some wore, the lacy or frilly outfits, the silky undergarments and flimsy shoes. He knew some guys liked the more rough-and-tumble hard-ass women that were common in the military. Not him. He liked soft and delicate and sweet.

Those women—the petite ones, the demure ones—were difficult to find. Nigh impossible on base, and it wasn't much easier when they got back to the States. It was hard to meet women when stuck with three other guys, living out of seedy motels most of the time.

You could always pay for it, of course, but that wasn't B.A.'s cup of tea either. It was better if it was real, and hookers weren't ever real. They were only what you wanted them to be.

So he was patient. He was young, he knew the statistics that said that a large majority of people had serious relationships (he wasn't sure if those "random samplings of the populous" included ex-Army Rangers-slash-federal fugitives, but he _hoped_), and eventually he figured something would come his way.

And when it did! Oh, he'd treat her right—from her styled hair to her French manicured toes. He'd baby her and care for her and she'd have him wrapped around her little finger.

He couldn't wait.


	2. Murdock

_Disclaimer: Oh, please. If they were mine, I'd shout that from the rooftops._

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><p>Murdock loved the taste of women.<p>

Medications were a bitch. The commercials on TV that listed potential side-effects of whatever medication they were hawking? The ones that normal people rolled their eyes at and announced that if the med caused all those sorts of problems, why in the hell would anyone even think of taking it? Those medications.

Murdock kept his mouth shut when guys made those comments. As crappy as those side-effects could be, he knew why.

The drugs he was on weren't advertised on TV, but lots of those side-effects were the same.

The worst part about it was he also knew the reasons those side-effects came about. Dry mouth? Anticholinergics blocking acetylcholine. Sensations of bugs crawling on your arms? Over-stimulation of serotonergic receptors. Erectile dysfunction? Increase of phosphodiestrerase means too much vasoconstriction, which means no erection.

But knowing didn't help.

He'd learned to live with it. All of it. He drank lots of water, didn't drink much alcohol (which would exacerbate the side-effects), minimized scratching even when the nerves in his forearms were firing so much he could barely stand it, and didn't talk about his junk. Don't ask, don't tell applied in lots of different situations.

Plus he occasionally found it difficult to get a prescription for anything that countered that embarrassing side-effect. Lots of the doctors seemed to think that if he was crazy enough to need anti-psychotics, there was no call for him to be having recreational sex like everybody else.

It wasn't the greatest life—no man wants to admit that his equipment wasn't up to snuff 80% of the time he wanted it to be—but the alternatives were worse. Stop taking the meds so he could get it up and that's a ticket back in the psych ward, being forced to take the meds and _still_ not being able to get it up. No way.

So he compensated for it.

He didn't pick up women as frequently as Face—was there anyone who did? Not only did he not have the all-encompassing charm that the conman exuded, there was also the constant worry in the back of his rational mind that he needed his drugs to keep him on an even keel. Missing some because he had a sleepover at a woman's place wasn't a pleasant experience. There hadn't been many times in his life he was overcome by enough lust to forget all the shittiness of his existence without meds.

But there were occasions that he found himself with an interested member of the opposite sex. Then, if he wasn't able to score a little blue pill from Hannibal, and it was one of _those _nights that his soldier wasn't going to stand at attention, he had to make up for the fact that he wasn't going to be able give her what another man could.

He could, however, give her the best damn oral sex she'd ever had.

He'd honed his technique—honed multiple techniques, to be exact, depending on factors such as whether or not he had shaved and whether or not she was drunk.

Drunk women didn't need finesse. They needed hardcore stimulation to offset the fact that too much alcohol was a downer and made them less sensitive. And although it could take a while to get them off, one orgasm and they were done.

The non-drunks . . . that was his choice, if possible. Since he accompanied Face to lots of clubs and bars, it was rare to find a woman who wasn't; rarer even than the occasional drunk hook up. But it happened once in a blue moon. Then he was able to really shine.

He rocked their worlds.


	3. Face

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue; you'd only get a dog or two, and a sizable collection of books._

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><p>Face loved the feel of women.<p>

He was a charmer, a flirt; he had more charisma than any one man should and he gave into the dark side of temptation so many times just to be with women he'd lost count.

Not just women, either. He'd seduced men too, for a job or just for fun if there was no one else to be had. He didn't consider himself bisexual—more like hetero_flexible. _Willing and able to adapt to whatever situation presented itself.

He'd conned his personal files once, the ones with the results of the tests everyone was made to take before they actually enlist you in the military. He knew that Hannibal had read them too, which was why, Face thought, the boss didn't ever comment on finding him sleeping in Murdock's bed.

B.A. may have thought it was for Murdock's stability, heck, even Murdock may have thought that, but Hannibal at least knew the truth.

His files had pages and pages of information regarding his past life. The life that included abandonment, and the Catholic orphanage, and foster home after foster home. The life that included survival on the streets and information about petty crimes that was supposed to have been sealed under a juvenile record.

It included a psych evaluation, that read, in part, that he was smart/scheming/calculating (each word was used at different points); he was an accomplished liar (true); his time spent with the nuns and the Catholic upbringing meant he may have underlying guilt issues (probably true); and finally, that due to his fragmented childhood, he was desperate for attention and human contact.

And if close emotional relationships were just out of reach, physical relationships were his substitute.

What an awful way to say he liked people.

Face decided a long time ago he didn't care. So what if, deep down, the shrinks were right? What if all he wanted, all he needed, was someone to be with him? Someone he could rely on, someone he could touch and taste whenever he required. Was that too much to ask?

Instead, he opted to believe—and he reveled in the fact—that he just loved women, in all their shapes and idiosyncrasies, all their looks and smells and . . . just everything, everything about them.

He enjoyed it, they enjoyed it; so what bit of difference did an old evaluation make?


	4. Hannibal

_Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine._

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><p>Hannibal loved the power of women.<p>

He was cunning and strong and tough and handled most sticky situations with a cool hand and cooler head. He wanted to be in the thick of the action, and his men gave 100% because they knew he'd never make them do anything he wouldn't do himself.

So it would surprise them to know he was docile in the sack. When he got into bed with a woman, he was happy to be under her control.

No S&M or heavy-duty bondage, however. He wouldn't turn down a playful tying up, but he'd never gone to a dominatrix or anything that extreme. He figured if he hadn't taken that step so far in his life, he was old enough to not ever start.

But to have a woman dominate, tell him exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it—that turned him on like nothing else.

Not that he _never _took the reins in the bedroom. Good sex was about mutual give and take, and he wasn't so blind as to know that women enjoyed a take-charge kind of man between the sheets too.

Finding the balance between laying back and letting her have her way with him versus having her submit to his wants for an evening could be tricky. It was trickier with one-night stands, which is why he was skittish about that sort of hook up. Again, not that he'd shy away completely from that sort of thing; it was just not his preference.

Of course, a long-term relationship with a woman or two while being hunted wasn't incredibly easy either.

But he was John Hannibal Smith. Top or bottom with women, hounded or revered by his government—he'd take what came and make the best of it.


End file.
